It seems that I am to be a finalist in this years Red Planet Prize (it’s quite prestigious, you know).

A month or two back, I submitted a ten-page extract and outline for a one-hour TV drama and a subsequent series. Today I received an email stating:

Congratulations Gerry Hayes!
Your submission “Over Sophie” has been chosen as one of the finalists for this year’s Red Planet Prize. Can you now email your completed script – as soon as possible – to this address, along with your synopsis and details. The script will then be considered by our panel of judges and the winner will be announced in the New Year.
All the best and well done.

Red Planet Pictures Limited

Hurrah for me. Hurrah, hurrah and thrice hurrah. I’m a finalist, selected from a thousand others. Even if I don’t win, that’s pretty cool. Still though, fingers crossed for the win.

Jason, Martin, Piers: Thank you for your very kind words. I shall remember you in my victory speech. Assuming, you know, I can actually be arsed. Probably not, now that I think of it, but thanks nonetheless.

Jason [addendum]: The head is a truly awful thing, isn’t it? It’s how I imagine a succubus to look just before taking on more pleasing form. Hmmmm. With that in mind, maybe it’s not too bad. I’m slightly aroused, now that I think of it.

Ister: Thanks very much. I shouldn’t think that, even if I win, I’ll be rolling in cash and script-groupies (oh, how I hope there are script-groupies). I’d imagine I’ll be hammering crooked nails into guitars for some time to come.

Congratulations to you, too, on your NaNoWriMo triumph. Leave it to one side for a month – you never know. Even if you ultimately hate it for ever, the great thing about NaNoWriMo is that it proves to oneself it can be done. Imagine what you could achieve if you could take a bit more time.

The first draft of anything is shit. Wise words, wise indeed. Now if I could just get the fifth drafts to stop reeking of poo, I’d be happier.

Gerry Hayes

I mostly sit around all day and drink tea. Occasionally, I write stuff and send it to strangers so they can humiliate me and deride my efforts. Other than the self-harm to dull the shame of failure, it's not a bad life. Like I say, there's tea.